


what trauma had wrought

by moriimae



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen, Lavellan!Reader, M/M, Other, i dunno if there's anything else LMFAO, light spoilers for dragon age: inquisition main story, somewhat graphic descriptions of death, uhhhh, uhhhh i'm shit at tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:01:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29204787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moriimae/pseuds/moriimae
Summary: Haven, unsurprisingly, left you with quite a bit of trauma. You, being the Inquisitor, felt like you had to carry the burden alone.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Reader
Kudos: 7





	what trauma had wrought

**Author's Note:**

> I left the Inquisitor’s gender ambiguous despite Cullen being straight in the game. Also, the Templar route was chosen since that’s the only one I’ve played. And the Inquisitor is Dalish, because I’m physically unable to imagine anything other than a Dalish Inquisitor. Yes, the title is a play-on from What Pride Had Wrought.

It was early. The sun was barely risen, golden rays filtering through the stained-glass windows of your room—the giggles of children carried up to your balcony, stirring you from your restless sleep. You sat up, body aching.

_At least they were laughing. That they were here to laugh. After Haven—_  
— _where fire was everywhere, blazing. Red-hot. Screaming. Blood in the air. Templars twisted into monstrosities. Bodies, so many bodies—_

You squeezed your eyes shut. Ghosts of the disaster danced across the backs of your eyelids.   
_Stop, stop it, please—they were innocent, all of them_ —  
_—laying, unmoving. Mothers clutching their children—_

The anchor sparked, a white-hot pain shooting up your arm. 

_The anchor is permanent_ .   
_You spoilt it with your stumbling._

The anchor sparked again. You didn’t even register that you were sobbing.

_I will not suffer even an unknowing rival_ .   
_You must die._

You dug your nails into the palms of your hands.

_Cold. So cold. Trembling. So tired. So much snow—too much snow. Can’t see. Going to die. Going to freeze. Must keep moving._

Your body shook from the sobs ripping themselves from your throat.

“Inquisitor—? Y/N!” 

You jolted at the feeling of a hand on your shoulder, gently shaking you. Your eyes snapped open to see Cullen’s face, contorted with concern.

“H-Hey, Cu-Cullen.” Your breathing hitched as you tried to offer him a reassuring smile, but it did no good—if anything, it worried him more. The Commander shook his head, the worried crease between his eyebrows deepening.

“Why didn’t you tell me how bad it was?” Cullen sighed, moving his hand from your shoulder to cup your cheek, swiping your tears away with his thumb. “You do know I would understand, yes?” 

_Kirkwall. Of course he’d understand. He’s got enough to worry about, though. An army to command. He doesn’t need your trauma on top of that._

You decided to leave out that last part. “You’ve got a lot on your shoulders. I didn’t want to worry you.” 

Cullen smiled sadly and shook his head. “I shall worry anyways. You needn’t carry your burdens alone, love. I’m here for you. We’re all here for you. Always and forever.”

His voice was so _soft,_ so _loving_ . 

You broke.

“I couldn’t save them all, Cullen. So many people—I couldn’t—”  
_—stop the slaughter. Blackened bodies on the ground. Screaming. The shrill shriek of the Archdemon. Flames. The smell of burnt flesh. So many bodies. All the people you failed._

“Hey, hey. Look at me.” Cullen’s voice cut through the poisonous thoughts.

_When did you close your eyes?_

You forced them open, darting your gaze across Cullen’s face, searching for pity. But there was none, only sympathy. 

“You saved as many people as you could. _You risked your life_ to buy us time to get the villagers to safety. You could’ve—” Cullen paused with a sigh, “you did more than anyone would’ve ever expected. You saved more people than I thought possible. No one blames you for those lost. I certainly don’t—nor does Cassandra, nor Varric, nor Solas. None of us do. We’re just glad _you_ made it out alive. Cassandra was beside herself, insisting we went back to find you. I can’t say I wasn’t in the same boat—Varric was the voice of reason, believe it or not.” 

_He shifted the subject_ , you noticed. Not that you minded. It was welcome.

You let out a shaky laugh. “Varric? The voice of reason? Surely you jest. Are you certain you didn’t hit your head?”

“Astounding, I know.” Cullen smiled, a laugh rumbling from his chest. “Cassandra seemed ready to punt him if need be. Luckily, Solas was quick enough to stop her.”

“That does sound like Cassandra.” You smiled. Your anxiety had settled—at least, enough to where you weren’t on the edge of hysteria—and the images of Haven had left your mind for the time being. Cullen still looked concerned, but less than he had when he found you. He moved from his position in front of you to sit on the bed beside you.

“I think they’re serving decent breakfast in the tavern if you’d like to drop in and grab some.” He bumped his shoulder against yours. “If I’m not mistaken, it’s pancakes.”

“They always have decent food, Cullen. _You’re_ just a picky eater.” You teased, bumping him back. “The ram stew is actually quite good, yet you refuse to go near it!”

“It has _carrots!_ Who eats _carrots?”_ Cullen huffed, crossing his arms. 

“Normal people, Cullen. Normal people.” You laughed, shaking your head. “C’mon, before the children eat all the pancakes. Creators know that they will.”

“Race you there, Lavellan.”

“You’re _on.”_


End file.
